


Go With Me to Hades' House

by yuffiehighwind



Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beetlejuice and Lydia - dead and alive, respectively - find themselves at an impasse when they realize there's an attraction between them. Takes place immediately after my fanfic "Gravity."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go With Me to Hades' House

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from the play "Alcestis," by Euripides.

Lydia could see things other humans wouldn't let themselves see.

That's not to say she was spiritual. Raised in a non-religious home, Lydia was a cynic, though no skeptic. Open to the idea of life after death, Lydia pored over books far beyond her grade's reading level on the topic. Until she met her first ghost, though, she remained open-minded but dubious. Carefully rational about the paranormal, but hopeful to someday have her own encounter with the otherworldly, Lydia hadn't sought spirits. They just gravitated to her regardless.

Her first friends were ghosts. Trapped in limbo, cursed to haunt their old home, Adam and Barbara Maitland tried to scare the Deetz family off their property, only to find a sympathetic ear with Lydia. Kind and down-to-earth, the young couple boosted Lydia's confidence - even acted more parental than her parents. There was no doubt this knack for ghost whispering was a gift to cherish.

But her first love was a ghost.

Lydia didn't know this, but touching a human was like trying to grip a hot saucepan by its metal. She knew touching the dead was like dipping your hand in a bowl of ice, but didn't think this intensity of feeling could go both ways.

Prom Night was like sixth grade all over again - that temptation to recede to the corners, to melt into shadow and observe her fellow human beings as an anthropologist might. Or a zookeeper.

If highschool (or Beetlejuice, for that matter) had taught Lydia anything, it was how to lie, or at the very least fib. For her friends' sake, Lydia held the after-Prom party, even let her date kiss her goodnight, though she turned her head slightly at the last minute and he really only got the side of her lip. It was awkward, and when he was finally gone, Lydia retreated to her room to collapse into bed, still clothed in her red-black gown, her hair still in its magical updo Beetlejuice had given her, which relaxed only when her head hit the pillow.

Lydia hoped for a dreamless sleep, but her psyche had other plans, as did the Neitherworld.

She awoke on a black sand beach, purple waves lapping the shore. Startled by the feel of sand, half-expecting a sandworm to appear, Lydia frantically scrambled to her feet. Seeing the waves, remembering the view, she relaxed. A hand to her head felt her hair up again, subtly blowing in the breeze.

She turned around and saw him standing there, just watching her, with an unusual look for his pallid face - yellow teeth hid behind rotted lips in a sad, wan almost-smile.

He waved.

Lydia's hand reached out for him, merely grasping at air. But of course, there were yards of beach between them. But wasn't this a dream? Couldn't she traverse the distance with a thought?

Unless it wasn't.

"Hey Babes."

"Beetlejuice!"

Relieved her greeting sounded positive (she hoped he didn't hear the desperately infatuated tone, the pounding of her mortal heart), he smiled, flashing a hideous set of teeth. But his smile was so infectious, so enthusiastic, she found herself returning his happy look.

"This ain't a dream."

"I'm...really here?"

He approached her and she ran to him, to feel that icy wake-up contact, but she ran through him and looked down at her hands, as though she were the specter.

"Uh..." He scratched the back of his neck and looked a bit sheepish. "No, you're not really here. But I'm really talking to you. Another trick I picked up over the centuries."

Lydia turned to look at him, shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"How many rules do you _constantly_ break?"

He glowered, but there wasn't any real anger in his gaze, just petulance.

"Poltergeists as powerful as me don't just stick to the rulebook. Never have, never will."

Lydia just crossed her arms. She always had to keep him out of trouble.

They stood awkardly still for a bit before Lydia broke the silence.

"Can I...can I see you again? For real?"

_To touch?_

Beetlejuice just returned her pleading look with a level gaze. Seriously, he replied, "Well now that's gonna be up to you, Babes."

She stared at him, not quite understanding. Hadn't she told him she wanted him this very night?

He stepped closer - almost menacingly, threateningly, as when she'd first met him so many years before. But she didn't step back, didn't flinch. This was her dream, after all. He couldn't hurt her here.

Could he?

"You scold me for breaking rules? We're breaking the biggest rule if we do this."

She almost had to think for a minute, to remember what he was talking about, to remember the gravity of her request that day.

Oh.

He reached a hand out - not touching, unable to touch - behind her head, and strands of black hair fell into her eyes. She brushed it away from her face and then he was closer - ugly, pale, cold, otherworldly strange. How would this even work? Could she even go through with it? What would that icy coldness feel like, permeating her skin like frost?

"Go home, Lydia," he said, and as she blinked, that unnerving image of his penetrating gaze fixed behind her lids, she opened her eyes and she was back in her bedroom, alone.


End file.
